by Kelly Utt
"How are we going to get to him?" Liam asks.
"The fact that he's here in town means we can get to him somehow,” I say. "We just have to figure out how."
"I believe we have to start with Duke,” Liam says. "He has access to police department records. He would know if the guy posted bail. And if he doesn’t know, he ought to be able to find out."
Roddy nods his head.
"I agree," Roddy says. “The question becomes whether we ask for Duke’s help or we maneuver such that he gives us access to the information we need without realizing it."
"This is a critical moment, " Liam says. "Duke is our friend. And he's going to work with us in the business. I wish we didn't have to betray or manipulate him, even if it is for a good reason."
"Nobody wants to betray or manipulate Duke," I say. "But we are going to find this guy at any cost. If that means we have to bend Duke’s trust, then so be it."
"Are you sure about that, George?” my uncle asks.
"Alright, then let's think this through," I say. "If we ask Duke to help us, that's a big deal. He'd be breaking the oath he took as a police officer. He’d most likely face serious criminal and legal consequences, depending on how everything shakes down. He and Jen have a baby on the way and they're getting married soon. Can we really ask him to risk all of that?"
"I know," Liam says. "He's a friend, but he's not family. He's not quite as willing to put himself at risk, nor should he be. He has his own young family to think about.“
"There is the job offer being brought to the table,” Roddy says. "I'm sure that would go a long way towards easing his mind. We could go ahead and tell him. You know, make it official."
"Not until I get back to Ithaca and file the legal documents to register the business,” Liam says. "I went ahead and got a plane ticket for tomorrow. But it will be a couple of days, maybe even a week, before all of that is set up and a bank account is open in order to start paying employees."
"Duke would probably want to turn in a notice anyway," Roddy adds. "So either way, we're looking at a situation where he's an active member of the police force.”
"Then how about we exhaust other options first?” I suggest.
"Like what?" Liam asks.
"I could go to the media,” I say. "They want so desperately to interview me. I could offer them an exclusive interview on the evening newscast in exchange for the information they have about the suspect."
Roddy and Liam both raise their eyebrows. They seem to be considering it.
"I don't prefer speaking to the media and airing my dirty laundry like that," I add. "But if it gets us the information we need, I'll do it."
"What about a simple public records request?” Liam asks. "Does that apply to an arrest?"
"I don't know," I say. "This is all new to me."
"Yeah, forget I mentioned it,” Liam corrects. "I'm thinking too above the board about this. We don't want our names attached to a public records request. If things go south when we find the guy, we don't want anything to trace back to us. This is new to me, too."
I place both hands down on the table in front of me and lean forward.
"Let's back up and start with the obvious," I say. “There's probably a lunchtime news program, right? It's the middle of the work week. Maybe they already published the guy’s name or said it on-air."
"Right," Liam says as he jumps up out of his seat to get his laptop from the other room.
He walks quickly back to the table and opens up the screen, then types “Lake Tahoe news” in the search bar as we gather around and watch. Sure enough, there is the Channel 7 logo we saw all over the news vans, the polo shirts, and the microphones at the hospital this morning.
Liam clicks through to the news station’s website, then we scan the headlines. The featured photo on the top story is of a guy who looks a lot like me. He appears to be tall. He's clean-cut with short hair and looks like he may have been in the military. He even has blue eyes. The most noticeable difference, however, is that he has a crazed look in his eyes. It almost looks like he could be mentally ill and off his meds. The caption below the picture confirms that this is our man. It reads “Suspect in local assault says grievance stems from a domestic dispute.”
"Get a look at this rat bastard, would you?” Roddy says. "Something is wrong with him in the eyes. I don't trust him."
"You're damn right we don't trust him," I add.
Liam clicks through to open the full article. Right there, plain as day is the suspect’s name: Clive Roland.
"Clive Roland," I say, sitting back in my chair. "All these months since the break-in and we had no face or name to put with the criminals who seek to harm us. Who knows whether or not Clive is connected to what happened in Ithaca, but I sure am glad to know his name and to see his face. Because now we can find him."
It feels awfully good to have this name and face in front of me. Better than it probably should.
Liam scrolls down and we continue to read the article. Luckily, we’re able to garner several additional pieces of information. The report says Clive is a drifter who's been living in campgrounds and hotels for the past several years. He's not from around here. It also says he was released on bond.
“Wasn't the guy from the January break-in wearing a construction company hat?" Liam asks.
“Yeah,” he was, I reply. "I did some of my own research about that company online and it looks like they send workers to multiple states for temporary projects. That might just line up with the story here about him living in hotels and campgrounds.”
“Then that's where we need to start looking for him,” Roddy says. "What do we know about local campgrounds and hotels? Which ones might a character like this choose?”
“Let's make a list," Liam says as he begins to search online.
“What do we know about the truck that pushed our Odyssey off the road?" Roddy asks.
“Now we're getting somewhere," I say. "We know the truck was black. And that it was an older model. We can look for a vehicle which matches that description at local motels and campgrounds."
Liam grabs one of the blank pieces of paper and a pen and begins to scribble down notes based on what he's learning from his Internet search.
“We might just get lucky,” Roddy says.
I stand up and stretch both arms high in the air. I feel victorious already. I feel like a hunter, ready to stalk my prey. Having something to go on, no matter how wobbly, makes me very happy.
“And would you look at that?" Liam says. "We didn't even have to call Duke."
We pack the laptop into its case to take with us, then we rush outside and pile into the Jeep. None of us are sure where exactly to begin our search, so we decide to head west towards the area near Bi-Mart. Maybe Clive is staying nearby. It's as good a place to start as any.
There's a campground right off route twelve. We select it as our first place to check. It looks decent enough as we drive inside. It's full of RVs and campers and has a grassy section for recreation at the back. There's no lake view here, which I find odd. If you're going to camp in Lake Tahoe, it seems like you would want a view of the lake. Maybe that's a clue. Maybe the people staying here have more nefarious things on their minds than a view of the lake.
Roddy is driving. He moves through the campground slowly while we scour the scenery as best we can. We make two loops, but don't see a black truck or anything else that looks suspicious. Liam is riding in the passenger seat again, just like yesterday. He has his laptop open and he's continuing to search for additional information.
“Hey, guys,” Liam says. "Pull over for a minute so I can show you something."
Roddy does as my uncle asks and pulls over onto a patch of grass and lets the Jeep idle.
“What is it?" I ask. "Did you find something else about Clive?"
"I think so,” Liam says. "I've been searching through various criminal records databases and I found a record for a Clive Roland who did time in North Dakota."
"Oh, shit," I say.
“Here,” Liam says, turning the laptop screen so Roddy and I can see it. "Look at this mug shot. Does it look like the same Clive Roland as the guy in today’s news?"
“That's him,” Roddy says. "What did he do time for?"
“It says here rape second degree, aggravated assault with a deadly weapon, and a bomb threat. Three separate charges."
"My God," I say. “That’s a lot. With that kind of record, why would they release him?"
Roddy raises an arm then punches the steering wheel.
"It's a damn good thing they did," he barks. "Now we can get our hands on him."
I wonder if it’s the rape charge setting him off. Or the deadly weapon. I'm guessing it’s the rape. That's what’s upsetting me right now. I hadn't considered it, but toppling into the ravine might have been the best thing to happen to my family's van. Maybe this outcome is better than the alternative. I shudder to think about Clive getting to them.
I give myself permission to rage and to let it boil up and out of me, just like Roddy is doing. In a series of fast motions, I punch the side of the door beside me three times. I probably look like a child imitating a grown-up, but I don't care. I want a physical, visceral connection to my rage so I can use it.
The next time I get close to one of the criminals who is pursuing us, I want to be delivering blows like Roddy instead of kicking a gun away and chickening out like I did the night of the break-in. Back then, I was scared to go to jail and miss seeing my little boys grow up. I guess I was naïve. I was working under the foolish assumption that only one attack would happen. If the last few days has taught me anything, it's that things can always get worse. Finding and eliminating the threat to my family is worth life in prison. I’m serious. Prison is a fine price to pay for the ability to keep my precious loved ones safe.
Roddy puts the Jeep in gear and speeds out of the campground parking lot as gravel peppers the air behind us.
"There’s a low-rent motel another half mile up the road,” Liam says. "Let's try it next."
There's not much traffic on the road. In a couple of minutes, we’re there.
Just like at the campground, Roddy drives slowly as we peer out, scanning everything we see for clues. The motel is old. It’s the kind with exterior entrances on two levels. The entire structure is shaped like a T with an office at the top end. There aren't many cars in the parking lot. Of course, that's what we’d expect to find mid-day in the middle of the work week. We make two complete loops before deciding there's nothing here.
Without explaining what he's doing, Roddy parks the Jeep in front of the office and gets out.
"Stay here," he says. "I'm going to talk to the clerk."
Liam and I do as he asks. I watch over Liam’s shoulder as he continues to scour the Internet for anything related to Clive Roland.
"Hey, Liam," I ask. "Humor me for a minute. If this guy has something to do with Ancient Greece, how do you suppose I'd figure that out?"
"Whoa, George," he replies. "I'm out of my depth on that one. I have no idea."
"Yeah, I figured as much," I say. “I’ll scale it back. If this guy is connected to what happened in January in Ithaca, how do you suppose we'll figure that out?"
"I’m not sure,” my uncle replies. "But that sounds like a much easier nut to crack."
"Right," I say.
The top is still off the Jeep and the sun shines brightly on my skin. I feel a pang of guilt for being out here in the sunshine and fresh air instead of in Ali’s shoes. I wonder if there have been updates about her condition. I know Marjorie will call us when she finds out anything. But this surgery has gone on much longer than Dr. Wong said he expected. On one hand, I guess that's good because it means she's hanging in there and fighting to stay alive. On the other hand, her injuries must have been more extensive than they first realized.
I also wonder about my boys and how Leo is going to handle the surgery on his legs. It should be starting within the next few hours. I hate that I'm not there. But I know Mom will take good care of him and help him feel safe. I'm sure Marjorie will go upstairs also from time to time to check in. I'd like to be there to comfort him, but that feels like a luxury right now. It's more important that I’m out here doing what I'm doing.
Before I can get too deep into my own thoughts, Roddy walks out of the motel office and gets back in the driver seat.
"Well?” I ask. "Anything useful?"
"No intel," he replies. "I showed the guy the picture. It's just a young kid working in there. He can't be more than nineteen or twenty years old. He hasn't seen anything. He's telling the truth."
We pause for a moment and it feels like we sigh a collective sigh.
"We’re looking for a needle in a haystack," I say. "We don't have time to waste. Think, guys. How can we find this creep?"
Liam taps his index finger on the keyboard of his laptop as he considers the question. Roddy puts one hand on the top of his head like he did on the boat yesterday when we first heard that our family was in trouble. Suddenly, Roddy sits up straight in his seat.
"I've got it," he says. "Criminals often revisit the scene of the crime. Since Clive just got out of jail and probably saw his picture on the news, he might be feeling cocky right now. Let's head over to the Bi-Mart. There’s a chance he’ll show up there."
Liam and I like this idea. It's certainly the best we've had so far. We're not far away, so, after another short ride, we arrive at our destination.
Weekday afternoons must be a quiet time in Lake Tahoe, because the Bi-Mart parking lot is nearly empty, just like it was a couple of days ago when we first arrived to look for our family. Roddy drives up and down several of the rows, scanning for vehicles as he goes. This time, instead of looking for our Odyssey rental van we’re looking for the truck that was seen in surveillance footage following our family as they exited the parking lot. When we don't find a black truck, we pull into a parking spot in the area where the truck was seen on camera.
"Are we going to wait?" I ask.
"It's a safe bet Phil Burgess is not going to want to see you coming into his store again anytime soon," my uncle says. "You tore his office to shreds."
"I still don't really remember doing it," I explain. "I must have truly been in a blind rage. I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry," Roddy says. "Use your anger. You're going to need it."
Liam nods, agreeing. I do the same.
"What about the surveillance cameras filming us right now?" I ask. "Don't we want to avoid that type of thing?"
"You really don't remember, do you, George?" my uncle asks. "When I say you tore the place to shreds, I'm not exaggerating. You destroyed the surveillance equipment in Phil’s office."
"Oh," I say.
"Yeah,” Liam continues. "I'm sure the cameras out here still work, but unless Phil replaced all that equipment on the inside really quickly, there's nothing to receive and store the recordings."
"Maybe that's a good thing," Roddy says.
"Maybe it is," I say.
I hunch over in the backseat and fiddle with one of the seatbelts absentmindedly while we wait.
"If Clive shows up," I begin. "What are we going to do to him?"
"Stay on course, George," Roddy instructs. "Use your anger. You're the predator, remember? What are you going to do with him?"
I shake my head up and down. "That's right," I say. "I am the predator here."
"Good,” Roddy says. “Tell me what you want me to do.”
"Okay,” I say, feeling powerful. “We need to grab him and take him to another location where we can ask questions," I say.
"Now you're talking," Roddy says. "How are we going to do that?"
"I guess we just do it," I say. "There aren't many people around. Maybe we call him over like we want to ask directions or something?"
"Maybe, "Roddy says.
"Do you think he'll recognize us?" I ask.
"Probably," Liam inserts. "If he
claims to know Ali and was able to identify her, Marjorie, and the boys in person, he can probably do the same for us."
"So, we just have to grab him," I say.
"Looks like we're about to get the chance," Roddy says, gesturing to an older model dark truck pulling into the parking lot.
"Hot damn, "Liam says. "That hardly took any time at all. Lady Luck must be smiling down on us today."
"Play it cool," Roddy instructs as he tosses me the hat from the hospital maintenance uniform I was wearing earlier today. "Put this on."
"He's right, "Liam adds. "You're the one Clive is most likely to recognize."
I've never stalked a person before. A fresh rush of adrenaline courses through me as we watch the black truck slow down and pull into a parking spot near us. I look cautiously from under the brim of my hat.
"Bingo,” Roddy says. "That's Clive Roland."
"Looks like him," I say. "But are you sure? We don't want to grab the wrong guy."
"I'm sure," Roddy confirms. “George, put the top on the Jeep, will you?"
I do as instructed. It will be important to keep what happens inside the vehicle from being easily detected.
Clive is looking around the parking lot, but he doesn't seem to notice us. We're about thirty feet away.
A sweet-looking old lady brings groceries to her car nearby, so we wait for her to load up and go away. When she's done, we move.
"It's go time," Roddy says forcefully.
The three of us step out of the Jeep and walk briskly towards Clive's truck. He's staring down at something now, not paying attention. Looks like it's a mobile phone. We’ll need to be careful that no one on the other end of a phone call hears what's about to happen. We certainly don't want a recording.
"Do we have a weapon?” I ask as we walk.
"Pocket knife," Roddy says quietly. "I haven't carried a gun in years. Don't worry. We won’t need one."
“I have a handgun in my bag,” my uncle says, to my surprise.
“Really?” I ask. “When did you pick that up?"
"This morning. I told you I had to take care of a few things."
I'm surprised by my uncle’s forethought. I wasn't planning to assault anyone today. I definitely wasn't thinking about a weapon. Like Roddy, I haven't carried one for years. I feel like it's unnecessary when I'm home in the States. I take reasonable precautions so as not to need a gun. I’ve chosen to live in safe neighborhoods and to stay out of high crime areas. It has felt best not having to worry about a firearm with little boys around. I could never forgive myself if they got ahold of it and hurt themselves. It's not that I'm against owning a gun. If I felt like I needed it, I would carry one. Maybe that time has come.
